An Open Letter to (You Germ-Infested) Kindergarteners

Yes, I am talking to you with your cute new outfits, spiffy new shoes, and recently snaggle- and gap-toothed smiles. You are all so very, very cute and I cannot wait to see the people that you grow into. However, I do have a bone to pick with you and I hope that I can speak plainly here. You make me sick.

Literally, bed-ridden, fever addled, cannot breathe sick.

You may not realize that I am privy to the gallons of hand sanitizer, yards of disinfectant wipes, and thousands of anti-bacterial facial tissues that you have stashed away in your cubbies. This is the reason that I am puzzled over the recent string of nastiness that you have sent to my home. I cannot understand how these germs are so virulent that they have survived all of the artillery that you have at your disposal.

And yet, they are and they did which brings us to now.

See, in your tiny body, germs do their thing; you run a bit of a fever, your momma gives you some Tylenol or ibuprofen, you take a quick nap, and two hours later you are running around, bouncing off the walls with a free day off like you were never even sick. But in my body and most likely your momma’s body? These germs mutate into something evil, something surely sent by Satan himself and, honestly, it’s just not fair.

When I see how rapidly you digest and defeat these germs, I begin to wonder if this is the time that I will get sick and die. I begin to think that perhaps this disease is not the same one you have recovered from so quickly. Obviously, this is the time that I have contracted Ebola (if that still exists) or West Nile or Avian Flu or Encephalitis and my death is not only certain, but in the near future.

The fever that you were able to knock out with one dose is now going on four days strong for me, with very little relief. My body aches for sleep that is interrupted by demands for food or playtime or the intense desire to blow my nose, while one nostril leaks a constant fount of watery snot, the other is so congested that it is bitterly painful. You have to repeat everything that you say to me because my right ear has been ringing for three days while the left has received no sound for the last two.

I am willing to work out a truce with you. You break open the packs of supplies that your mommas scoured the city for and start using them, and I will make sure that your teacher is supplied with a steady stream of the best name brand snacks that I am allowed to bring. I will not only volunteer to host your classroom parties, but will ensure that you will have lots of sugary goodness to celebrate with.

But, if I catch wind of another runny nose or fever? I will cut off your supply and you will be left eating whatever generic pretzel sticks that your poor teacher can afford for the rest of the year. I will bring a raw veggie tray of cauliflower and broccoli to every party and celebration and make sure that every kid gets some on their plate. I can and I will make sure that I go out of my way to healthify your classroom if changes are not made.

Let’s work together, kids. I want you to be happy, I want you to have fun, I want kindergarten to be awesome for you, but, if you keep tossing these germs around like your basketball at PE, I will be forced to be the bad guy.

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